Raju stares at him, expression faded into surprise. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. But Francis has outmanoeuvred him very neatly; Raju can’t very well tell him No, you would rather be comfortable. So he nods, swallowing and looking away, standing up to put on layers of his own. The set of his shoulders is high, posture curled against the cold, but he doesn’t grimace and complain about it the way he usually might. His gaze doesn’t know where to sit as he does it. Usually he would watch Francis, or his hands.

“Is it morning, then?” he mutters, restless gaze landing for a moment on a curtained window he can see through the doorway. He wouldn’t see any sun behind it even if the curtain was opened up, and that wouldn’t say anything about just what time it is. “Can’t tell.”